AWAKENING THE SHY MISS

by Scott, Bronwyn

  ‘Yes, my father has spent considerable amounts of time researching it. He’s in the final stages of writing a book about the tapestry,’ Evie offered. He stared at it a while longer, asking questions, before turning his attention to other artefacts in the room. The gallery was a repository of history. There were other, smaller, tapestries hanging from the walls, unprotected. He wandered over to one depicting a unicorn set against a blue-flowered field.

  ‘This one is quite fine as well. Is it of some import?’ He wondered why it wasn’t under glass too. It seemed familiar, as if he’d seen it somewhere before.

  Evie shook her head. ‘No. It’s one of mine. It’s merely a copy of a famous French tapestry.’

  Dimitri peered closer, studying the stitches. ‘You did this? It is marvellously well made.’

  Evie shrugged off the praise. ‘I drew the pattern from a piece of art. I like to work with cloth, sewing, weaving. I draw my own patterns.’ That was interesting indeed; a historian and a seamstress, although that seemed too menial of a word for what she’d done here, and an artist. Evie Milham was a trove of hidden talents.

  He spied a framed collection of ink work hanging on the wall. ‘Are these some of your patterns?’

  ‘Yes. I drew them for one of my father’s books, but he liked some of them so much he wanted to frame them.’ Evie blushed. ‘A father’s prerogative, I suppose. Some would say he’s biased.’

  Dimitri looked closer. The work was exquisitely done, meticulous and clean. ‘I don’t think he’s biased at all.’ An idea came to him. He could use someone with a decent artistic eye at the site.

  They strolled the perimeter of the room, he asking questions and Evie answering, each answer a revelation. Evie Milham might appear to be somewhat quiet and unassuming, but beneath that exterior, there was much of her waiting to be unwrapped, waiting to be discovered. She was knowledgeable about history, able to answer his questions with impressive intellect; she could replicate medieval tapestries with an expert’s skill; she was sensitive to others’ feelings, perhaps too much so.

  Did she make a habit of casting herself in the subordinate role in conversation? He’d seen it at the assembly. She’d put herself forward when Andrew had failed to introduce her, but the moment she perceived she was an interloper, she’d withdrawn, content to defer to the wishes of others. But today he’d applied considerable skill in drawing her out, in making her an equal in the discussion, and she had blossomed. He could not remember enjoying a conversation this much. There was no pressure to perform, to be the Prince. He had only to be himself.

  They passed out into the gardens off the gallery and into the sun. There was more order to these gardens than the ones in front of the house, probably because these gardens were designed to show off statuary. Most of the statuary were broken. There wasn’t a whole statue among them, but that only reinforced their authenticity. ‘Shards my father has picked up over a lifetime,’ Evie explained with a rueful smile. ‘These are from Italy, from his Grand Tour twenty-eight years ago.’ She gestured to a twin set of partial busts.

  Dimitri made noises of suitable impressment. He was more interested in how the sun caught Evie’s hair, the auburn flame of it flickering in the smooth brown depths. The statues couldn’t compete. Her hair was beautiful, even coiled in a tight braid that wound neatly about her head. He imagined for a moment undoing that braid and combing his fingers through it. Undone, her hair would be long, and straight, the smoothness of it falling through his fingers like Chinese silk. It made him wonder what Evie Milham would be like undone in other ways. What other secrets lay beneath her unassuming exterior? What would she reveal to the man who uncovered those secrets? What would she discover about herself? He felt a flicker of regret that he couldn’t be that man.

  ‘Miss.’ The housekeeper caught up to them on the gravel path, breaking his attention on Evie’s hair. The woman was huffing from the exertion. ‘Mr Adair is here, shall I send him out?’

  Evie’s face split into a smile. ‘He can join us. Please, bring some lemonade and the little cakes Cook baked this morning, if it’s not too much trouble. The lemon seed are his favourite.’

  Evie’s gaze moved to a point over his shoulder, her smile widening, lighting up her whole face. Dimitri didn’t need to turn to know it was Andrew striding down the path. A fierce little spark of competitive maleness lit in him. He wanted that smile for himself, not for Andrew, who didn’t want it, and didn’t appreciate it. His friend’s boldness bordered on arrogant. Andrew hadn’t waited for permission to join them. He’d assumed he’d be welcomed and the presumption was irrationally annoying. Why did he care if Andrew joined them?

  They sat for lemonade and cakes at a table under a shade tree and Dimitri knew why he cared. Evie, who had become relaxed during their tour of the gallery, had suddenly become self-conscious and tense, too eager to please: Was the lemonade sweet enough? The cakes fresh enough? The whole while, Andrew took the demure obsequiousness as his due, oblivious to Evie’s efforts once more.

  ‘I must get the recipe from your cook.’ Dimitri reached for another lemon seed cake, easily his fourth. ‘These are delicious.’

  ‘Too simple for the court of Kuban, though.’ Andrew threw out the thoughtless insult and helped himself to a fifth cake. ‘Can you imagine these plain little things on a tea tray along with those frosted delicacies of yours?’ Andrew glanced over at Evie, the first real look he’d given her since he arrived. ‘You haven’t seen a tea until you’ve had tea Kubanian style.’

  Dimitri watched Evie brighten at the comment directed at her, willing to overlook the insult delivered to the cakes Andrew claimed to prefer and which she’d especially thought of serving on his behalf. Didn’t she see the comment wasn’t for her benefit, but for Andrew’s? This was a chance for Andrew to show off. His suspicion was confirmed when Andrew launched into a detailed description of the one time he’d experienced a Kubanian tea at Dimitri’s apartments in Naples where they’d met.

  Evie listened, enrapt. Dimitri wanted to kick Andrew. Andrew had adopted quite the superior attitude since they’d arrived in Sussex. It was not something that had stood out to him in their travels.

  ‘Is that how you met? Over tea?’ Evie turned her attention his direction, playing the polite hostess who recognised one guest had dominated the conversation for too long. ‘I had no idea Andrew had made it as far as Kuban.’

  ‘He didn’t,’ Dimitri put in quickly. Maybe it was selfish, but he wanted to disabuse her of the notion that Andrew had been to the remote Russian kingdom in the steppes. In fact, Andrew had not strayed from the conventional path that made up every Englishman’s Grand Tour. ‘We met in Naples. I was hosting a gathering for expatriates around Europe to celebrate work I’d completed at Herculaneum. My team and I had uncovered a mosaic destroyed by the eruption of Vesuvius. We spent that spring restoring it.’

  ‘Wonderful stuff. What the Prince was doing in Herculaneum rekindled my love for ancient history.’ Andrew leaned forward, ready to take up the reins of conversation again.

  Evie smiled. ‘My father would enjoy hearing about your experiences.’

  Andrew cut her off with a wave of his hand. ‘Ancient history, Evie, not medieval. There’s quite a difference. Centuries, in fact.’ His tone bordered on patronising as he laughed. Was Evie going to sit there and let his remark go unchallenged? Of course she was. She wasn’t going to pick an argument with the object of her affections.

  Dimitri couldn’t help himself. After all, Andrew wasn’t the object of his affections. ‘I think she knows the difference, Andrew. Miss Milham and I were having the most enjoyable afternoon. She showed me the Arthur tapestry and some that she’s done as well. Miss Milham is very talented and exceedingly knowledgeable on several subjects.’

  Andrew’s gaze fixed on him, sharp with curiosity. ‘Ah, the tapestry. I remember now. I had wondered why you’d come.
’

  Dimitri heard the veiled slander—that Evie alone couldn’t possibly be attraction enough. He hoped Evie hadn’t heard it. It would hurt her. Perhaps it was remarks like that which had led to her self-consciousness. Such remarks were nothing to him, but she had not cut her social teeth in a royal court. He met Andrew’s gaze with his own, unwavering, his sense of protectiveness rising instinctively on Evie’s behalf. ‘Well, then you have your answer. I am still looking for mine. What exactly brings you here this afternoon?’

  * * *

  What had just happened? Evie glanced from Andrew to Dimitri. Were they fighting over her? It was too preposterous to believe; the golden-haired Andrew Adair and a Russian prince, sparring over her while they sipped lemonade in the garden. It was ridiculous in the extreme and yet she wasn’t sure what else to make of it. Oh, how she wished Beatrice and May were here! They would know for certain.

  ‘More lemonade?’ Evie groped for something to say that would relieve the tension. She was not equipped to handle such a situation. She passed around the dwindling tray of cakes to give herself something to do. Dimitri took two, Andrew took three, shooting the Prince a triumphant look designed to make a point. At this rate, the two of them were going to eat themselves sick. She gingerly picked up the threads of the original conversation. ‘You met in Naples, and then what?’

  ‘The Prince made a fortune on the mosaic, selling it to a museum in Naples,’ Andrew supplied drily. ‘He was moving on to Greece, to a temple excavation on the peninsula. I was intrigued so I tagged along. We did the temple and another small dig near Athens, then worked our way home.’ Andrew sat back in his chair and folded his hands across his stomach with smug victory. ‘I told him about our local Roman villa, which has never quite got off the ground in terms of a full excavation, and the rest is history.’ He laughed at his joke. The tension eased and Evie was almost convinced she’d imagined it to begin with. The visit concluded amiably, the gentlemen polishing off the last cakes and the remainder of the lemonade before rising to leave.

  The Prince bowed over her hand as he had at the assembly room. She was struck once more by the intensity of his gaze and the heat generated by his touch. It still didn’t mean anything, she reminded herself, but silly as it was, she liked how her stomach fluttered when he touched her. ‘I was wondering, Miss Milham, if you would consider helping on the villa excavation? You mentioned you draw your own tapestry patterns and I need someone to do a catalogue of drawings for any artefacts we might uncover.’

  Her pulse sped up at the prospect, flattered that he’d acknowledged her skills. What an honour, an honour far beyond any she’d ever expected. For a moment she couldn’t find any words. She settled on ‘I would like that very much.’ When he touched her, looked at her with those dark eyes, spoke to her in that low voice with its dentalised ‘th’s and hard ‘r’s, she felt like a princess. Almost.

  ‘Come to the site tomorrow.’ He released her hand with a smile and the magic was gone. She was once more merely Evie Milham, plain and quiet, the sort who admired men on their pedestals, not one who was put up on a pedestal of her own. She certainly wasn’t the sort of girl those men fought over. Not the sort of girl a prince would pay serious attentions to, but for a moment she had been.

  Chapter Five

  The walk back to Andrew’s was...different. For once, it was silent. Usually, most of their walks were filled with Andrew’s talk. Andrew liked to think out loud. Normally, Dimitri didn’t mind. Today, however, Andrew was silent except for the occasional swish of his walking stick cutting through the high grass in the meadow. Dimitri opted to wait. When Andrew was done processing he would talk.

  ‘What happened back there?’ Andrew gave the grass a hard thwack with his stick. Apparently, he was done processing. ‘For a moment, I thought we were going to quarrel over Evie Milham.’ He said the last as if the notion was insane. Dimitri didn’t think it was in the least preposterous. Didn’t Andrew see it? The beauty beneath the simple attire and the simple hair; the devotion she was waiting to lavish on him? As for himself, he was thinking far too much about that hidden beauty. When she’d spoken of tapestries and stitchery, he’d wanted to take her hair down pin by pin, pull it loose from its tight coiffure and spread it through his fingers like so much embroidery silk.

  ‘I was unaware there was anything to quarrel about.’ Dimitri shot Andrew a wry smile. ‘She is quite solidly yours by her own design.’ Perhaps Andrew needed a little push in Evie’s direction, something to drag him out of his oblivion. Maybe he could help with that. Maybe Evie could use some help with that. She was making it too easy for Andrew, catering to his every whim. Andrew would never respect a woman like that. He would, however, use that woman. Dimitri’s stomach gave a small twist. He hardly knew her, but it sat poorly with him to think of Evie Milham being used in that manner.

  Andrew lifted a brow. ‘Do I sense a wager coming on? There was a time when you could turn a lowly country girl’s head like that!’ He snapped his fingers and tossed a smug grin at Dimitri. ‘Or, are you losing your touch? I admit I have a head start. She’s known me her entire life. But you’re a prince,’ he goaded. ‘Surely that evens the playing field.’

  ‘Those games are fine with ladies of the court,’ Dimitri offered warily. He wasn’t sure he liked the idea of pushing Andrew towards Evie any more. Last night, it had seemed like the right thing to do, a way to help out Miss Milham. His stomach twisted again. ‘I think those games are rather cruel, however, when played with unsuspecting country ladies.’ Dimitri’s stomach twisted harder, more violently than before. This time he didn’t think it had anything to do with Evie and everything to do with seed cakes. Too many seed cakes.

  All things in moderation, his old nyanya had told him more than once growing up, always after he’d over-indulged. Some day he’d learn, but apparently not today. His covert eating contest with Andrew had been petty. From the hitch in Andrew’s step, it looked like he might be feeling the effects as well. They’d behaved childishly and they’d got their just desserts in the most literal way possible. Andrew let out a burp and a sigh that set them both to laughing. ‘That’s better.’

  The tension between them eased and Andrew slung an arm about his shoulders, having already forgotten Evie Milham and his silly wager. It was for the best. Dimitri knew he certainly had no business involving himself in careless games regarding a young woman’s affections. There could be no entanglements for him. He would be returning to Kuban. Taking Andrew’s wager would require deliberately breaking an unsuspecting girl’s heart. The best he could do for her would be to help her understand her own value, to see her own beauty. She didn’t need to settle for a man like Andrew.

  Dimitri shot a sideways glance at Andrew, only half-listening to a story about Evie’s seed cakes. Andrew was golden and laughing in the sun. It was easy to see why Evie would be taken with him. But Andrew was also entirely self-absorbed. Even now, with just the two of them present, he was ‘performing’ the story for an audience. Usually, Dimitri was impressed with Andrew’s showmanship. On the road, Andrew’s glib tongue had talked them into a few prime situations such as the dig in Greece. But here in England, his ‘showmanship’ seemed rehearsed to the point of narcissism. It reaffirmed Dimitri’s premise: There was no doubt Miss Milham would be good for his sometimes high-handed and arrogant new friend. She would love him in spite of himself, and, given time, perhaps she would help him see what was truly important in life. But at what cost to herself? The real question to ask was: Was Andrew good for Evie?

  Dimitri laughed out loud at the direction of his thoughts. Andrew would think the laughter was for the story. In reality Dimitri was laughing at himself. Who was he to decide their future, or even be interested in it? He hardly knew Evie Milham and he’d barely known Andrew for a year. He had no business interfering. Aside from his curiosity over the quiet Miss Milham with her russet hair and her hidden hobbies,
he wasn’t even sure what had sparked his attentions in the first place. Maybe it was a sign after all that he was ready to return to Kuban, settle down and live the life he’d been destined for since birth, the life his family needed him to live.

  Perhaps it was for the best he felt that way, since his return, even his marriage, was inevitable. Dimitri shook his head to clear his thoughts. He wouldn’t think of that, not yet. There was still some time left to him. He needed to focus on the immediate future first. What came next would take care of itself. Until then, he had one last excavation to oversee and to enjoy.

  * * *

  The excavation site was bustling with organised activity when Evie and her father arrived the next morning. The scale of that activity was quite impressive. Workers, hired from local labour, hauled carts of rocks and debris away, others whisked dust from slabs to see what was hidden beneath, while still others were engaged in the process of sifting rubble through sieves searching for shards of artefacts. The industry was punctuated by an occasional shout—some of them in Russian, a reminder that not all the effort on site was local.

  ‘The Prince has brought his own team,’ her father commented as they picked their way through the site, trying to stay out of the way. ‘He’s very methodical, very efficient. He’ll have his men oversee various aspects of the project so he doesn’t have to train new foremen.’ It was a reminder of what she’d forgotten so easily yesterday. Dimitri Petrovich was a prince, a man who was used to being served, used to commanding and directing others. Travelling with a retinue was to be expected.